His body ached and his quick moving brain seemed to have slowed to a crawl, above him madam simza, otherwise known as sim was humming some ominous song.
To his left by the still open rail car door a gipsy he couldn't remember the name of was looking out mourning the loss of what he guessed was a close friend.
His eyes shifted slowly, it seemed like an eternity of time passed as he blinked slowly before looking at the final two occupants of the train, the first was doctor john Watson his closest colleague and a man who he would go so far as to call friend, who was currently rummaging through a sack, most likely in search of bandages for the wound the final occupant was currently stitching.
He took a moment to marvel at how his friend didn't even flinch as the needle punctured flesh drawing more blood before being pulled to close the wound that much further before his eyes moved to the owner of the steady and sure hands doing the work.
Stephen Rowen was a strange young man and the newest human occupant of 221B.
He couldn't have been that young though he appeared to be in his 20s, the skin on his face smooth and unblemished other than by a pair of dimples so deep it appeared as if a master craftsman had carved them into the ivory tone of his skin.
His eyes were a soft summer blue that seemed to change with his mood growing dark when he was happy and lightening when he was upset, he believed if he ever became truly angry his eyes would become silver, or possibly white.
He had never made the man angry enough to test the hypothesis.
It seemed as if he had the patents of a saint, he never complained about being woken from his sleep or kept up late into the evening.
And it seemed very few things rattled him.
Stephen's hair was a light brown, almost a unwashed blonde color and it constantly fell into his eyes in the front, the back he kept tucked under a hat or tied away from his face.
Having unusually long hair himself he never questioned the man about it and he never offered an answer.
It was one of the many stalemates between them.
Suddenly finding himself reminiscing he thought of how intellectual the man was, how sharp his whit could be, the way his off handed suggestions had not only made him focus on a particularly difficult problem but on occasion even solved it for him.
He also thought of the young man's cooking, not always did he partake in meals but he was always tempted, his beef goulash was delicious.
With eyes becoming heavy and vision blurring he looked over the man a sudden fear tightening his chest, he looked at every detail and committed it to memory, from the sweep of his lashes over his cheeks and the long strand of hair he was constantly pushing behind his left ear all the way down to the gentle nature of his hands and the soft lilt he put into his words as he spoke.
He wanted to remember everything about him, every detail, he felt as if he had to, like he was desperate to remember the man but for what he currently had no idea.
He was too tired to think his injuries taking their toll on him, he just couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.
Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and without truly realizing it slipped silently toured that good night ahead of him.
The image of Stephen Rowen held tight in his mind.
-
It was a chilly October morning when a masked figure showed up to the door of 221 bakers street, an older woman answered the door both brows risen in question "Mrs. Hudson?" they questioned she nodded pulling her shawl tight around herself to stay warm.
"yes who are you?" the figure reached up with one gloved hand and pulled the scarf from around their face "my apologies ma'am, I contacted you earlier about the room you had for rent?"
The woman's face lit up with recognition "oh Mr. rowan, I am so sorry I should have realized sooner, come in come in, were letting the cold in"
With a nod he moved inside staying in the foyer as she closed the door "the room you would be renting is up on the second floor, follow me and I'll show you" the woman started to ascend the steps and he followed.
Once on the correct floor she opened the door to an average sized room with a single bed a dresser with a mirror and what looked to be a closet set into the wall.
"this would be your room, rent would be due the second week of each month" he had been nodding slowly as he looked around the room then he turned to look at her "yes about that, if you don't mind me saying so it seems rather cheap for a room of this caliber"
The woman nodded "there is one tenant already though he is a bit" she stopped and pursed her lips then sighed "it is best you find out yourself, though let me warn you, the reason no one else has rented this room since its last occupant moved out is most likely because of him"
He smiled as if to reassure the woman "don't worry Mrs. Hudson, it's difficult for bad habits to run me off" she snorted then looked surprised at herself for a moment "Well trust me Mr. Rowen, you've never seen habits like this before" he just turned toured the lone desk sliding a glove covered finger over its surface.
"well, either way, if you leave in the first week you won't be charged rent"
Silently she was making a mental bet that he wouldn't last three days.